


witch no longer

by orphan_account



Category: Shoujo Kakumei Utena | Revolutionary Girl Utena
Genre: Abuse, Anthy reflects on her abuse while on a train looking for Utena, F/F, Implied Childhood Sexual Abuse, Introspection, Intrusive Thoughts, Post-Canon, Pre-Canon, Recovery, Spoilers, Yearning, mentions of gore
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-01
Updated: 2020-03-01
Packaged: 2021-02-28 04:40:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,861
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22964029
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Anthy has not lived long compared to the witch within her, trapped and hollow for millennia.But she is her own person, at the end of the day, and all girls must step out of their coffins.
Relationships: Himemiya Anthy/Tenjou Utena
Comments: 2
Kudos: 35





	witch no longer

All Anthy knows is hatred and numbness.

Hatred is another sword through her flesh, another reason to damn it all and finally become the witch her brother wanted her to be. Anthy knows the feeling well. It was not bold to say she hated the duelists; they rotated every 5 years, and yet they all looked the same. Pathetic claims for heroism, or power, or reassurance or the worst of all,  _ companionship.  _ A small voice in Anthy’s head would be heard sometimes, reminiscent of the days of the old.  _ Wouldn’t it be easier to simply kill that babbling blue haired fool? Isn’t he worthless, too pitiful to ever reach the Prince?  _

Anthy did not act on those thoughts.

She had been Anthy for a few years now, not many. Her brother had instructed the witch to change her face and her name every decade or so, to preserve her identity as the miraculous Rose Bride. Sometimes, Anthy didn’t see the point in it. She would still remain a vessel for the witch, with no personality or wants of her own. But here she was, forgotten as soon as the duelists graduated and then destroyed for the next vessel.

This cycle of duelists was not particularly spectacular. Anthy remembered the beginning, only a year ago when the red haired boy— Touga, was it?— claimed the ring first. Without another duelist to fight, Anthy remained ownerless for some time. Touga didn’t pay much attention to her, nor did he even look at her with any interest. It wasn’t until his friend ran after him, showing the brand of the rose on his ring finger, that he got invested.

Touga was a powerful duelist. Anthy did not struggle to understand why he was chosen by Akio; his movements were fluid and calculated, his footsteps like a move on a chessboard. Anthy could tell he would be the one to duel her brother at the end of this dueling cycle, but she also knew he would lose. What Touga wanted was power, and Akio would surely defeat him in that contest.

“Anthy, right?” He asked, giving her a bored glance. 

“Yes, Master.” Her answer was immediate and gentle. Anthy had not lived long as a vessel, but the witch within her knew enough of men to do as she was asked.

That was Touga’s first and last words directed towards her. Any other dialogue was simply not meant for her response, with the exception of  _ “Anthy, the sword,”  _ the many times Anthy had served by his side during the duels. Other than that, Touga did not even acknowledge Anthy’s existence. She was the  _ Rose Bride _ , not the young 6th grader he had met her as.

About after a month or so of Anthy’s new life as the Rose Bride, a new duelist would come to initiate the duels. The boy was skinny, tired and weak. He was gentle towards Anthy’s classmates, and revered to be a sweet gentleman in comparison to his rival who was a womanizer known by many. Anthy tended to forget his name a lot now, on the trains she boarded while gazing at the scenery, but for once she remembered.  _ Saionji. _

Saionji had run up to Anthy and Touga in the rose garden, breathing heavily with scraped knees and a bruised face. Touga did not ask how he was, or why he was so beat up, but made a small  _ ah  _ sound as Saionji had lifted his left hand. Shining true, a silver ring showed itself on his ring finger, and through heavy breaths, Saionji yelled. “Fight me!”

They had dueled a few times. Not many, for Touga continued to beat Saionji ruthlessly, but Saionji did not know how to give up. There was something different in him, Anthy noticed. Saionji kept coming back, each loss more devastating than the last, but he came back. He had a fire in his eyes, a  _ need _ to be better. Anthy pitied him. No matter how hard he tried, he would never rise to Touga. Boys like that made Anthy malicious.

Then, one day, Touga sighed. “I’m bored.” He would say, out to open air with no particular addressee. Anthy stood. He would duel Saionji.

The fight was stupid to say the least. Touga had pretended to “accidentally” slip and fall after a few moments of banter, and Saionji had secured the scarlet rose with no problem. Anthy was slightly surprised that day, but she knew that once the cycle neared its end, Touga would come to claim her again. He simply got tired of her for now, like a toy, but he’d pick her back up again as a weapon in a few years.

Saionji was a brutal master. Anthy had only known disinterest and negligence from Touga, but Saionji was a disgusting mess of a man. He begged for anyone to look at him, including the helpless shell of a girl Anthy was. He would hit her, bruise her, reduce her to shreds with his sword when he felt like it. And after it all, he would propose to have tea with her in a few minutes. Anthy remembered asking the witch if men were meant to be this violent towards things they owned. The witch didn’t reply for some time, but finally gave her an answer.  _ Men who are desperate to be loved will destroy anything. _

Anthy had removed the memories of laying lifeless as Saionji tried to pretend to be in power for the many nights she had been his. Sometimes, she would sigh and pet Chu Chu while shaking her head. What a poor, powerless boy, doomed to be second best.

What Anthy  _ did  _ remember from her first time as Saionji’s bride was the small glimpses of a young girl. Anthy was in 7th grade now, Touga and Saionji were sophomores in high school, and it was their second year in the dueling cycle. Anthy had seen her around school a few times, but never so up close. She was even prettier in person than she was from a distance.

Juri Arisugawa was her name. The girls in Anthy’s grade level excitedly (and sometimes enviously) discussed Juri through giggles and whispers; she was a girl wonder. Smart, beautiful, part time model when not studying or training. She was the Vice President for the Fencing club, with skills so strategic and perfect that it was no doubt she would go on to be in the Olympics. Anthy thought otherwise. Juri, if anything, was destined for one thing in Akio’s world; she didn’t date men, and was therefore useless to him, unless she became a duelist.

And a duelist she did become. She quietly approached the smug pair of duelists at lunchtime, ending their bickering with a simple stare. She cleared her throat and held up a thin, silver ring, sighing when she gained no response from the boys. “Who do I have to duel first?”

Surprisingly, Touga let Saionji win once more. He wasn’t ready to pick Anthy up again, as it seemed. Their battle was short, and it did nothing to prepare Anthy for what would come next.

The battle between the Vice President of the fencing club and the president of the kendo club was interesting. The witch had giggled.  _ He’s as good as dead, and you didn’t even have to touch him. _

Juri was gorgeous. Every movement was perfectly calculated, skillful and undeniably righteous. Anthy was surprised. Saionji had always fought with jealousy, but Juri? She fought with a different passion, a different beat. The two duelists danced around the battlefield for some time, fencing at the heels of kendo. Within about ten minutes, however, Juri sliced through vibrant green petals, and Saionji fell apart. There was a saying the witch would often recite.  _ Beautiful women are the most dangerous.  _ Anthy did not know if she agreed with her at the time, but after being Juri’s bride, she understood.

The girl was a peculiar master. Not only was she the only woman in this cycle of duels, but she looked at Anthy with unrivaled hatred. Unlike the men that had claimed Anthy, Juri bared her teeth and ordered her to stay away. It was not desperation nor apathy, but pure fury. Anthy could relate.

Anthy rarely ever spent time with Juri, or stayed in her room long enough to really get to know her, but she wasn’t hard to figure out. On the moments before a duel, or when Anthy had been forced to linger around her subserviently, Juri would thumb at the locket nestled in her chest. Her thumb always moved in a clockwise motion, gentle but rhythmic, like a prayer. She was in love.

“I detest women like you,” Juri had told her once. “How dare you? You boast of miracles, of power…” her hands were balled into fists now, “How long will you keep lying?” Anthy had offered Juri some tea, and her master had snapped, screaming and pushing at her. Anthy blinked.

“I have not lied, M—.”

The slap she had received did not sting. 

“Don’t you dare. One day, after all of this is over, I’m going to expose you. And you’ll have nowhere to hide.” Juri’s words dripped with venom, but somehow, Anthy understood that Juri’s endless anger was not directed towards her. Juri’s fighting, her hatred, her viciousness, it was all a desperate attempt to prove miracles were not real. Out of all of the duelists, Anthy hated her the least. She was still vile, yes, but the poor girl didn’t chase power, or had any ambition. What she wanted was proof, perhaps to comfort a broken heart. Juri’s voice cracked awfully as she shook with fury, snarling at Anthy, “You think you can fool everyone with letting yourself be used… but I know who you are. A liar.”

“Yes, Master Juri.”

Objectively, her engagement to Juri was the most comforting.

There was another boy. Anthy had seen him in her grade level, now that it had been a few months since she had served Juri. He was a genius, according to the gossip Anthy would overhear sometimes. He had been a piano prodigy in his youth, and had skipped a few years in school. He was also a twin, and his twin sister was notorious for scandals, but Anthy did not pay much, if any, attention to him. It wasn’t until she noticed him hang around her master, practicing fencing along her side. Juri had taken the boy under her wing, which was surprising. Juri was known to not have any close friends or relationships, not since middle school. Why would she choose him, of all people?

“Juri, why don’t you let Anthy sit?”

They were having white tea that afternoon, and Anthy stood obediently at Juri’s side (a foot or two away from her, on her orders). Miki was running for student council that year, and Juri had decided to give him some tips. He didn’t know of the duels yet, but he knew of Anthy, and that was somehow worse.

“She can sit if she wants to.” Juri replied coldly. “It’s not like I’ve told her to stand up.” She sipped her tea with an uneasy calmness, and Miki shook his head.

“Maybe she thinks you don’t like her, so she doesn’t want to upset you.”  _ Oh, idiot boy. _

“If you’re so worked up about it, why don’t you ask her?” Juri was getting frustrated.

He had a habit of quieting, especially around Juri. He opened his mouth but nothing ever came out, and with a pink face he picked and pulled at his sleeves. Miki had a lot of tics, nothing to hide his true feelings. It was a little sad, Anthy thought. She could almost pity him.

The next few days, Miki seemed to hang around longer. His eyes lingered on Anthy, his breath shortened and his gaze grew timid and shy. Anthy didn’t say anything, nor would she if she was not tied to Juri. Looking back at it now, Anthy remembered praying that Juri would never lose to him. Being engaged to Miki would have been hell.

And her prayers are answered. Miki fought with his heart, but all of him is in his head, and he lost easily. Anthy knew he was the weakest of the bunch, despite his ingenuity, but he didn’t have any reason to be here. It couldn’t possibly be him wanting Anthy to be free. No, like most other men, he wanted someone to control, perhaps to replace a loved one. 

Anthy would have never admitted it, but she smiled to herself whenever he lost. Juri was violent, Saionji abusive, and Touga negligent, but they were at least honest. Miki, on the other hand, was not.

After about six months, Juri got tired of her. Anthy could notice that her anger, her fury, was fading. By the next duel, a proud and valiant Saionji defeats her with much surprise. Juri handed her over with a gaze that doesn’t seem to leave, perhaps a mix of disgust and regret. Anthy remembered it well, after all of these years. She wondered how she was doing, if she had truly found her sacred miracle.

Saionji’s abuse was nothing new, but he had gotten cocky after Anthy’s absence. He started to hurt her in public places, then again in front of the student council— Juri looked away with disgust, Touga cringed at the lack of masculinity, and Miki sat doe eyed. It was in those months before eighth grade that her anger reached its most dangerous peak, and Anthy found herself reluctant to continue. The witch demanded a spouse, and Anthy was tired of this already, but Akio did not wane. He told her to wait, and with each day, the hatred inside of her grew sharper, as if being polished like a blade.

Then,  _ she  _ came.

Anthy had seen her often. Pretty pink hair, a boyish attitude, a males uniform, not even in the proper colors. For once, she admired someone from afar without having it be whispered into her ears by classmates. She was pretty, but Anthy didn’t spare her more than a passing glance, fearful that perhaps Saionji, or Akio, would get the wrong idea.

Oh, but then she  _ dueled. _

Utena Tenjou was dazzling. Reckless and imprudent, but ultimately so innocent and heartwarming that the witch seemed to bloom inside of Anthy. Anthy resisted the urge to smile.

“I’m not going to let a guy like you just go around hurting girls! Who do you think you are?”

“Your next duel, so don’t get cocky!” Saionji was being reckless. His anger was beating him now, even up against Utena’s cool yet clumsy steps. But something extraordinary happened, and Anthy felt herself being brought to tears.  _ Could it be…? _

Saionji had lost. He had lost. He  _ lost!  _ Green petals fell onto the floor like thick blood and Saionji was left panting pathetically, letting out a roar of frustration at his loss. Utena seemed dumb founded and stood, blinking at the broken kendo sword in her hand. 

Anthy stared at Utena, and her hands trembled. A small voice, in the depths of her body, whispered—  _ Dios? _

“Hey… I’m not really into this whole dueling thing, so…” Utena clicked her tongue. “Next time, I’m just gonna let Saionji win, okay? I don’t really understand all of this.”

They were walking together, back to the dorm rooms. Anthy would have to prepare Utena’s room ahead of time, and somehow, she couldn’t wait. Chu Chu would like her. The witch already did.

“Yes, Master Utena.”

“Cut it out with the master stuff, will you? Just call me Utena…” The naïve girl looked away in embarrassment. “We’re classmates. I’m not your… fiancé or whatever, so don’t worry about it.” Utena was the type to wait for Anthy to catch up to her, and her steady gaze was more than enough to encourage her. The moonlight would usually terrify Anthy; the imprints of her brother clung to her skin in an aching memory. But tonight, with Utena near her, she felt calm. Something about the way Utena’s eyes darted left and right in caution let Anthy know that, for a while, no one had to touch her.

Anthy smiled.

“Of course, Master Utena.”

…

Utena loved, lived, and she lost. Anthy hated, died, and won. They danced, they ran in only nightclothes on the rooftops, they separated only to rejoice once more. During those months, in her short span of existence, Anthy felt nothing but love. The witch swelled and softened. For those months, the witch felt like a girl. And Utena was her prince. Anthy’s prince.

Life was changing. Touga had picked her up again, only to lose her just as easily. Saionji had peeled away and become someone new. Juri had cried, and Miki was honest with himself, for once. Akio was scared. The witch, too, had changed. She was beautiful, at least in Utena’s eyes.

Losing Utena was hard. Gaining her was harder, but as Anthy gripped onto her bloody fingertips and the tears spilled out of her eyes, she could only feel one thing. Hope.

And plummeting down into everything yet nothing was more than worth it. Utena had not saved her, but she had cracked open the coffin door, and escaped herself.

…

“Are you not tired?” 

The witch stilled.  _ Yes, I am. _

“Come here.”

The young girl, roughly eight years old physically, looked up at Anthy. She was bloody, bruised, torn, and cut at the seams. She was exhausted. Anthy felt her feelings, and she her own.  _ I need to rest.  _ She limped over to Anthy, falling onto her and staining her uniform bright red. Anthy did not mind.

The girl laid her head in Anthy’s lap, yawning softly.  _ Before I go, will you tell me a story? Make it good, please. _

The girl was too sweet for Anthy to deny. 

“Of course. Once upon a time, there was a beautiful princess, who wallowed in her sorrow, but after being saved by a chivalrous prince...”

In minutes, the girl fell asleep, never to open her eyes ever again. Anthy cradled her head in her arms and kissed her forehead goodbye before laying her in a simple, pink coffin. She would sleep well.

...

Anthy was watching the world go by through the window, humming a song she heard long ago, perhaps by piano. She had learned it, too, but these days her fingers didn’t move around the keys: they would sit nonchalantly, letting the hollowed sound ring for as long as possible. Maybe one day she’d get the spirit to play back in her.

Time is ticking by and Chu Chu is fast asleep, snoring cutely on Anthy’s lap. He was so pained to leave the journey! But he was was comfortable as can be now. His snores calm Anthy, and any shred of doubt she might have washes away. Despite her newfound confidence, her impatience for all of her travels remains. She gently picks up her journal, thumbing through the pages: they’re clear and organized with precision, Polaroid photos littering the pages akin to falling petals. The journal is a lot prettier without the glasses on, and Anthy can’t help but feel a bit proud.

_ Okinawa. June 6th, 1998.  _ The Japanese sea behind her with the sun blazing in the sky. Anthy remembered that day. She wasn’t too old, old enough to travel, but not old enough to understand the gravity of her work. Chu Chu was so much fatter back then, resting with an excited face on her shoulder. Anthy smiles, because it’s one of the only photos of herself that she can remember being truly happy.

_ Tokyo. October 19th, 2000.  _ What a busy city! Anthy got to meet a lot of new people, perhaps more than anyone should ever, but it was kind of fun. The city was also the place where Anthy got her first, and current, phone. The photograph displays a tired Anthy drinking tea in a crowded café, looking longingly at the seat in front of her, where Chu Chu excitedly chowed down on a chocolate cake. The nice elderly woman who had taken the photo for her asked her ever so sweetly, “oh, are you waiting for someone?” Anthy remembers answering yes.

_ New York City. February 11th, 2003.  _ America! Anthy’s journal seems to be full of pictures of America. What a peculiar city, really; it was no Tokyo, but it seemed like a world of its own. A younger Anthy stands in the photograph next to the majestic Statue of Liberty, and Anthy laughs silently to herself. That day was so special. Anthy had found a trace of her around the city, nothing more than a sword, but enough to get an idea of her next stop. She remembered wondering as she stared at the tall, rusted green woman on the little island off the American shores,  _ I wonder if Utena has grown to be that tall by now. _

__

_ Monterrey. November 7th, 2004. _

_ Dubai. March, 2006. _

The list goes on, and Anthy sighs at the sight. Her next destination was Italy, and the train was awfully boring. Europe wasn’t her favorite place to search, but it was one of the last places that Anthy had not checked yet. She gently scratches Chu Chu behind the ears and takes a sip of tea. It’s burnt and made with old tea leaves, leaving quite the bitter taste, but it’ll do.

There are no voices in her head telling her to gouge out the eyes of the waiter who attended her. There are no urges to shatter the cup and cut into her skin. Anthy is Anthy, not a bride, not a witch. She almost regrets it, leaving the witch behind in that coffin, but maybe she was tired of this game as much as Anthy was. She must be sleeping peacefully now, covered in roses and milk and good dreams at the end of nothing.

Trees grow thicker by the window, and Anthy lays back. Perhaps she’s reminisced too much, but it’s hard not to when looking for her. Every little hint is a clue to her, a map leading Anthy to her name. Whether it be engraved on a tombstone or simply a sign on her residence, Anthy was ready.

She drags her finger along the map in the journal, manicured nails fluttering over Florence, Italy. The train would be stopping in an hour or two. Would she be older? Or would she still be fourteen? Something told her she’d be an adult now with messy hair and a cluttered apartment. Or maybe she was ghosting around town, leaving spare change and roses before disappearing. Anthy could get used to seeing her like that.

She could be married now. What if she had kids? How would Anthy feel? 

“Excuse me, ma’am, would you…?” Before Anthy could explore her emotions, the waiter popped into the cabin door, carrying a teapot behind his back with failed discretion. Anthy tried not to laugh. Maybe he had realized his mistake, but Anthy just smiled.

“No, thank you. The tea’s just perfect.”

  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> I had written this piece years ago, but revisiting it today made me think I should post it. It has not been beta-read, so I apologize for any mistakes.  
> Happy Birthday, Anthy Himemiya!


End file.
